On the night of January 27, 1993, I was arrested for the second time for drunk driving. It all happened so fast. I could see red lights flashing in my rear view mirror, and I knew I was going to jail. I had been in West Hollywood that night, having dinner and drinking with my friends, and I must have had one of my blackouts during the course of the evening. I could only remember bits and pieces of the evening's events. As the officer approached my driver's side window and leaned over to tell me that I had run through four red lights, I thought to myself--I could have killed myself or someone else. My God, I am lucky, even though I'm getting arrested, I'm lucky.
The horror story of the night evolved into a stay at Sybil Brand, a women's correctional facility which houses 8,000 women. The presiding judge at Burbank Municipal requested that I put in time there. I encountered prostitutes, murderers, gang members, thieves, drug dealers, and child molesters. My jail peers and the Sheriff's deputies made me feel like I was the slime of the earth. I was beaten and approached for sexual favors.
I watched women try to kick their habits, sometimes wallowing in their own waste in the corners of their cells. I spoke with a woman who was 75 years old who had been on heroin since she was 22 years old. Because I refused to take the alcohol test when I was arrested that night in January, my driver's license has been suspended for two years, and I either take the bus or ride my bicycle. Needless to say, these happenings greatly affected all aspects of my life. I no longer take my freedom for granted. Being in jail taught me what it is like to be a caged animal, and although I don't like not being able to come and go as I please with a car, every day I embrace my health and the very fact that I am alive. I could have ended up either dead or severely injured, maybe in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. In 1990, alcohol-related ve...